A Different Kind of Crossroads
by ImpalaLove
Summary: Written for Otorisosa-kan's Ten Word Challenge (Prompt with all ten words is in the description). No spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

**10 WORD CHALLENGE **

**Otorisosa-kan's Writing Challenge **

**I am lucky enough to have the chance to be involved in yet another prompt challenge, thanks to Otorisosa-kan! For this month, we had to write a story that included these ten words: healing, gushing, gift, urban, beggar, buffet, sideways, sound, flatness, diplomacy. Here's my crack at it (a little early because I'm procrastinating/feel like I haven't posted in a while). Enjoy!**

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Dean walks like he's on fire and is afraid to burn anyone else.

He moves through the crowded urban street with enduring purpose, steps calculated and perfectly timed so that he slides in between the bodies of other people like a ghost, barely brushing against them with the flaps of his open jacket or the slight bump of his one swinging arm. The other is wrapped tight around his middle, trying to slow the steadily gushing wound on his lower abdomen.

The city is alive but dead at the same time. People are sprawled all along its streets: everyone from the snappy businessman with a briefcase in one hand and a cellphone in the other, to the beggar pressed up against the side of a building that was once an all-you-can-eat buffet. He wears ripped jeans and a bright orange hat pulled down over his ears, and he holds a sign that reads _Tell me your story_ scrawled out in large black letters. Dean drops a handful of change into the cup at the man's feet with his free hand, but doesn't break stride, continuing to weave in and out; a fine needlepoint stitch. All around him, cars breeze past green lights while others screech to a halt at reds and yellows; a cacophony of honks and squealing tires and swishing fabric floating into the open city air like balloons with their strings cut and released. Dean's never much liked cities. Too many people and not enough cover if something goes sideways.

Like right now. Like today.

Dean walks on, stride puttering out every once in a while as he loses his rhythm and has to restart the song in his head. It's a habit of his. Whenever he gets injured or distracted enough that thinking becomes difficult, he picks a song to focus on instead- one with a steady beat that will keep him moving, keep him going until he can collapse onto a springy motel bed or sink into the familiar leather of his car's front seat. Today's song is not the classic rock associated with the usually stoic, leather-clad Dean Winchester. He's not sure why a Cheap Trick song would be the first thing he'd think of at a time like this, but "Surrender" is currently playing on a loop inside his head. It's wildly inappropriate for the situation, and Dean can't help thinking that this is what he gets for his attempted diplomacy in letting Sam pick the music more often nowadays.

Vision blurring, he stumbles blearily over the next curb and into the street, only to be pulled backward by an impressive force a second later, his back slamming into something solid as he struggles to stay on his feet, one hand still curled protectively around his stomach. Dean feels rather than sees the car that speeds directly through the spot he had just been standing in; a thick surge of air rushing right past his nose, bristling his hair. Dean freezes for an extra second, registering the close call, and then his instincts kick in and he is struggling to pull free from whatever grabbed him, limbs flailing somewhat pathetically.

"Hey. Hey, knock it off," a voice says. Dean feels the steady hum of the man's words against his back and immediately stops moving. There's only one person who can pull off that distinct combination of flatness and worry in his voice at the same time, only one person who can hold onto him with such force; equal parts anger and relief. Dean lets himself be dragged back another step and then does his best to spin towards the person still holding him without his eyes rolling all the way into the back of his head.

"Sammy," he grins the second he's caught sight of the familiar mop of hair and the equally familiar expression of exasperation plastered on his little brother's face. In the back of his mind, Dean can still hear the distinct sound of the city as people shuffle swiftly past them where they stand together on the curb. Dean is still using Sam as his support, free hand grasping the sleeve of the taller man's jacket as he wobbles unsteadily.

"Jesus Dean, what the hell happened?" Sam demands, eyes scanning his brother until they land on the thick slathering of red that has soaked straight through Dean's shirt. "Dammit, I told you to wait for me. I told you I was almost done and we would go kill it together!"

Sam keeps his voice low, his hand hovering worriedly over Dean's side, but it probably wouldn't matter anyway. No one in the thick throng of people seems to be paying enough attention, nor sticking around long enough to pick up on much of what he's saying. They don't even take notice of the bloody man he's conversing with. The one who's swaying on his feet and on the verge of taking a nosedive. Sam seems to realize this, pulling Dean in closer to him until they are standing hip to hip. Or rather, hip to waist with the height difference.

"Okay, let's get you outta here, huh?" Sam urges, his tone much softer now. Priority one is standing in front of him, and there isn't time for anger or a game of twenty questions. That will all come later. Dean nods.

"You got it Sammy. Let the healing begin," he smiles back, eyes glinting with a combination of playfulness and the disorientation brought on by blood-loss. Sam rolls his eyes and wraps an arm more securely around his brother.

They cross the street together this time.

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**Thanks for reading! If you're interested in participating in future challenges, feel free to PM ****Otorisosa-kan**** for more information. **


	2. Attempt 2: The Things They Carried

**So it's probably a good thing that I can write a little bit, because apparently I can't count. I appreciate all of your comments and reviews, and I have decided that because my previous story only contained 9 of the 10 challenge words, I would go ahead and redo it completely. I swear though, if they're not all here this time, I give up: healing, gushing, gift, urban, beggar, buffet, sideways, sound, flatness, diplomacy.**

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The Things They Carried

Dean once read this book about the Vietnam War, back when he was in school. He remembers the town they were in when the book was assigned: Jackson, Mississippi. He remembers the reason for being there: a particularly nasty spirit that was haunting a nearby hotel. (It took a while for Dad to figure out how to convince the hotel's manager that she needed to put holes in every wall and drop hex bags into them, so they'd stayed for a few weeks). And he remembers the name of the book: _The Things They Carried_. He remembers all of this, because this was the same year that Sam had come home with a C+ on his midterm report card. When Dean asked him about it, Sam said it was because, like his big brother, he had stopped reading the books his teacher had assigned in class. Said he found it all to be pretty pointless. So Dean had started reading.

And he made sure Sam saw.

Every day after school, he would collapse sideways onto the lumpy motel bed that he shared with his little brother, and he would pull out his book and start skimming the pages. After the first week, it became a routine for both of them, a silent agreement that carried on as the years passed and the Winchesters moved from town to town, school to school. No matter where they were; the back-alley neighborhood of a town in south Boston with the perpetual beggar on the corner, or the often reminisced two weeks in a four-start hotel on the corner of an urban Chicago street, they would always find time for just the two of them- sprawled out on the floor or shoulder to shoulder on a thin mattress. Just reading.

Dean doesn't really remember any other books. Just the one about the Vietnam War. Because there was this one part about these two soldiers named Jensen and Skunk or Strunk or something like that that had stayed with him for some reason. In the book, the two men started off hating each other, but after a few weeks in the heat of combat, they'd become brothers; made a pact that if one of them were to be wounded in battle, the other would agree to kill them as a form of mercy.

"Hey, stay with me, man," a thick, Southern drawl cut through Dean's reminiscing, and he looked up to see the broad-shouldered form of Benny staring stoically down at him, fingers wrapped a little too tightly around an enormous machete-like weapon that could only be found in a place like Purgatory. "Come on now, stay awake brother."

Benny lowered himself slowly onto the ground until he was kneeling beside Dean, giving the hunter's shoulder a rough squeeze. "Only way I'm gonna let you tend to your own injuries is if you can actually do it without falling asleep."

Benny sounded calm, but Dean could hear the distinct undercurrent of something hidden beneath the flatness of his usually rhythmic tone. Dean assumed it had something to do with the blood that was currently spilling out from his stomach, despite his attempts to keep his insides together, hands pressed tightly against the wound. No matter how comfortable with each other they'd become over the last few weeks…months…in Purgatory, Benny was still not quite over the distinct smell of a human's blood after so many years without it.

"M'not f'llin asleep," Dean growled in response, surprised at how slurred his words sounded. "Just wasn't prepared to be the main course for a ghoul's all-you-can-eat buffet, thank you v'ry much."

"Yeah well, we best get moving," Benny urged. "I think I can hear a stream a little ways North of here. We head that way, we can get you cleaned up."

Dean nodded and tried to stand. Benny caught him before he could hit the ground.

"S'rry," Dean coughed, his bloodied hands automatically reaching to hold onto the vampire's jacket to stay balanced. Benny tensed, but only for a moment while Dean gathered himself. Once Dean was standing on his own two feet, they took off at a slow pace, Benny leading the way and Dean following after him and the invisible sound of whatever it was Benny had apparently heard. As they walked, Dean tried very hard not to think about the hole in his stomach. He also tried very hard not to think about how natural it had become to listen to a vampire, to take his direction almost without question. Almost like they were…

Purgatory was a strange place, and it was turning his world upside down the longer he stayed here. Which is why he had to find Cas.

_Find Cas. Get out. _

It was the checklist that ran through his head on an endless loop.

Not long after, they arrived at a gushing stream, and Dean tried not to roll his eyes at Benny's 'I told you so' glance in his direction.

"Aw, come on now," Benny grinned. "Don't look so sour, mate. The gods of Purgatory have given us a gift."

Dean glanced sideways at his comrade.

"Oh come on Benny, don't tell me you believe in that religious crap."

Benny inclined his head thoughtfully, not speaking for a few moments.

"I suppose I do, in a way," he said after a while. "First of all, I'm from the South. Very religious region, if you didn't know." Dean rolled his eyes again, but Benny continued. "Though I think, over time, my views have shifted slightly."

"How do you mean?" Dean asked, genuinely curious now.

"I believe in a sort of…diplomacy, if you will. A balance to all things. There's good and there's bad. There's Heaven and there's Hell. There's pain and guilt and loss, but there's also love and joy. And the chance for redemption."

"My god you've gone soft," Dean joked, his laughter cut off by the pain that shot across his torso.

"Would you knock it off and get on with the healing," Benny huffed in mock annoyance, one corner of his mouth pulling up into a half-smile when Dean flipped him the bird.

A few hours later, when Dean's wound had been cleaned out and wrapped with an innovative combination of leaves and plant stems and he'd had a chance to rest, the pair was moving again.

"You doin' alright now, brother?" Benny asked, observing the way Dean leaned forward as he walked now, hunched over with one arm wrapped around his stomach.

"I'll be fine," Dean nodded, shooting a reassuring glance at the vampire walking beside him. He wished it wasn't such a comfortable exchange. He wished he could see the end of this war, a way out of all the chaos. He thought about making a death pact.

He thought about Sam.

_Find Cas. Get out. _

_Find Cas. Get out._

No pact needed.

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**I realized after I wrote this that the next episode of Supernatural is, funnily enough, also called **_**The Things They Carried**_**. That's quite the happy coincidence. What's not so happy is me right now, because we have to wait an entire month for said episode. Anyway, thank you for reading =). Your comments are always appreciated!**


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